


Blind Man's Bluff

by bluestalking



Category: These Old Shades - Georgette Heyer
Genre: M/M, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 19:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluestalking/pseuds/bluestalking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Monsieur is a pig,” Bonnard said, chin up, “as always.”</p><p>“And you are a viper,” Rupert grinned. “As always. Come to England with me, Léon, and I will show you this pig’s country manners.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blind Man's Bluff

**Author's Note:**

  * For [perdiccas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdiccas/gifts).



His Grace the Duke of Avon was a betting man.

He had been a betting man to lose his first fortune and gain the current one; he was at all times at bad odds with the barely useful affections of his family and friends. History had proved to his Grace that though failure came to all, his own ruthless intelligence was sufficient to rescue him from any temporary lapse of good fortune. With this philosophy in mind, the Duke’s previous evening had been spent on a wager against both the courage of an uncouth thug, and all probability.

Avon’s estimate of the thug’s valor had proven sound; the man’s will for violence had been nothing to his fear of offending this dispassionate aristocrat. A few sharp words had sent him on his way, unlikely to be seen again unless the Duke sought. As to the remainder of his wager—His Grace knew, without question, that the urchin boy he had purchased was the daughter of his old enemy, the Comte de Saint-Vire. That was in the bag. He did not know whether the branches of these facts could be enticed to fruit. He did not know how close this act might carry him to a revenge wrought.

When he had sent the self-styled Léon Bonnard to bath and bed, and had likewise banished his friend Hugh Davenant from the house, the Duke entered a repose and considered his position. Yes, all in all, he found it quite satisfying, _quite_ satisfying. He thought of his new possession’s glittering blue-violet eyes, her amazement at the company in Vassaud’s, and her childlike assertion that _Yes, Monseigneur, I should like to go there again very much._ Ah, she was a barbaric little thing. Avon smiled grimly in recollection of the casual viciousness with which she had described her attempts to murder her brother’s slattern of a wife.

His Grace thought it very likely that the wager would pay off well. What he ought to do with the girl herself, until his revenge and after its course, remained a curious question that he supposed would one day have to be answered; very likely it would answer to itself, with very little prodding needed. Tonight, however, he was content to be pleased.

When at last the Duke of Avon put himself to bed, it was with the satisfaction of a cat which has caught and crunched the most delectable of vermin, and all the cream beside.

~

In the room Walker had led her to, Léon lay with the covers drawn to her chin and her eyes sparkling up at the ceiling. It was very comfortable here, Léon considered, but she was not at all sure about the way in which Monseigneur thought of her. She supposed she was grateful to be rescued from her brother, but she thought, too, that she could have escaped very well, if only Monseigneur had not gotten in her way. Besides, she could not see that belonging to him _body and soul_ was very much different from belonging to the Bonnards. Things were very clean here, and expensive, and that she liked, but surely she could get the same elsewhere?

At Vassaud’s—several of the gentlemen there had complimented her. More than one had asked if she would leave Avon’s service for their own. Léon had been thinking of this since she and the Duke had returned to his coach, and, having spent as much on thought as her faculties would permit her, she had made it up, and now waited for silence in the house.

At last—at some late hour, though she could not, in the dark, see the hands of the clock—she heard the duke’s footsteps in the hall. He passed; she waited for silence again, and as long again as she could bear. Then, and only then, she crept from bed and dressed herself in the black page’s clothes the Duke had bought for her.

“Your pardon, Monseigneur,” she murmured. Then she slipped out of the room, leaving the door just ajar behind her.

The night air was cold, but the map Léon carried in her head showed the dark Paris streets, rather than the bright bustle of day-time. She must go now, if her memory was to guide her. Rubbing her palms together, she oriented herself, and then set briskly off.

She was less afraid now than she had been.

~

Rupert Alastair was anxious about going into Paris for his gambling—not so much as to stop him, mind, but there was, after all, the chance that he’d meet his older brother Justin before he’d had the opportunity to run up a new debt. As thoroughly as Rupert appreciated Justin’s familial policy of an open purse, he wasn’t nearly as pleased by the inevitable unpleasantness of conversation that was sure to happen between them, particularly if it happened _before_ he played his hand.

His anxiety, however, was defeated in prominence by the young gentleman’s compulsion to try his luck beyond his native soil; the gamesters of Paris, he felt sure, would be fair contest without costing him all he had. A few months there and perhaps he could escape without ever going to Justin, could perhaps even leave with more than he walked in with.

There was to tempt him also word of a newly-established gaming house that he wished very much to visit. The enterprise was overseen by a character of unknown history, a fact which evinced disapproval in some but piqued interest in others; to his credit, that individual was backed by the proprietor of Vassaud’s, and several prominent gentlemen besides. He took no beaux, meanwhile, but attracted much attention from the faro ladies for his striking looks and haughty attitude. Rupert was not so interested in that, but the early days of the new house had experience a rapidly flourishing name, good repute and notoriety in equal parts, and Rupert was never one to say no to a bit of a gamble.

His first evening in Paris, he made his way to the _Coeur de Léon_ some time after dark, as the streetlamps spilled gold puddles of light on the rain-damp cobbles. He took a carriage there, enjoying the ride on the off-chance that he’d have no money to catch one home. (If one must leave in disgrace, he always felt, one might as well first indulge oneself with an arrival in style.)

Rupert’s own equipage was somewhat delayed, as he had left with nothing but hand luggage and a few necessaries a day before the rest of his things. By the time it caught up, he considered happily, perhaps he would have another small fortune to add to it. In the meanwhile, a hired pair and driver made the journey comfortable enough, and he thanked the man cheerfully as he stepped out.

The _Coeur de Léon_ was a tidy brick house with modest white pillars in a not entirely respectable street. One gentleman was handing a lady from the carriage parked in front of Rupert’s. Several people stood gossiping on the cobbles, seemingly content beneath the streetlamps. The air was bracing and the atmosphere encouraging, and Rupert, as he strode forward, had the most optimistic sense that tonight would be a good night; surely he wouldn’t leave the _Coeur de Léon_ empty-handed or broken-hearted.

The door, once opened, revealed a brighty-lit front hall splitting off into numerous rooms, each as well lit, and brimming over with the raucous sounds of gamblers winning, losing, and gossiping in French that Rupert could barely keep up with. Rupert handed off his coat, gloves, and hat to the doorman, and made his way deeper into the noisy throng. This, he thought, grinning, was his element.

It took not long before found himself at a pharo table, plunging wholeheartedly into his favourite pursuit—a pursuit that commanded his whole interest until Monsieur Bonnard stepped into the room.

~

Léon Bonnard, proprietor of the _Coeur de Léon_ , was dismissed by his detractors as a pretender and a fop. He was, they sniffed, too pretty and his name too common for his house to be anything but the basest and most libertine establishment—an opinion which it might have occasioned simply for the nature of its entertainments.

Bonnard’s appearance was anything but base. His costume was well-tailored and expensive—increasingly expensive, the tatlers noted, as his house’s reputation grew—but the cut was ever too reserved to be in the standard fashions of a fop. Yet there always some conspicuous aspect of his dress—a bit of lace, a splash of gems, some decoration of his perennially unpowdered, fiery red hair. This, they thought, said that young Bonnard believed himself well above his station, and what was more, that he was a bit above those he found there.

Bonnard’s pride, at least, was no question in anyone’s mind. He was not kind to those that sparked his temper, and those who were thrown out of the _Coeur_ rarely invited themselves back.

The same qualities which incensed some, however, intrigued and even ensnared the hearts of others. Some were the tittering gentlewomen in coffee shops, but most were the _Coeur_ ’s loyal customers. As intoxicating as a good night of betting was, the players were equally drawn by the hope of seeing Monsieur Bonnard making his way through the rooms. They were pleased by the haughtiness of his startling eyes, looking slightly down on everyone despite his small stature. Those who could both engage him in conversation and keep on his good side were charmed by his laughter and his occasional seductive flattery. For those who could not manage to win him or keep him, there was a particular excitement to knowing that he might be equally rude to you were you a man or a woman.

It was the first night in Paris that Rupert saw Léon Bonnard, but several more such evenings before he realized that his curiosity about the fiery young man had not been soothed in the least by familiarity. They had not spoken. Rupert had not yet decided whether he dared risk Bonnard’s bad graces, and he considered himself an admirer, but not a fawning one.

Silent or not, however, Rupert had lost money paying more mind to Bonnard’s conversation than to his own hand. He was, by his own admission, of the party who were rather intrigued than disgusted; before a week had passed he was a devoted member to the cult.

It was on his second Tuesday in Paris, after a comfortable week of losing a little and winning it back, that Rupert at last spoke to Monsieur Bonnard. Then things did not go as well or as quietly as Rupert might have hoped.

~

Rupert became aware, first, that the conversation behind him had halted; second, that the conversation around him had done the same; third, of a light heeled step beside his chair, and a deep, arrogant little voice addressing him.

“Monsieur,” the voice said, and Rupert noted the exquisite embroidery of the speaking gentleman’s coat. He looked up into the singular eyes and orange curls of Léon Bonnard.

“Monsieur,” Rupert returned, bewildered.

“Perhaps you have not heard,” Bonnard suggested in accented English, “there is no cheating in my house.”

“Oh, but I haven’t been,” Rupert started.

Bonnard’s expression grew hard. “I am not a fool, stupid boy. Everyone at your table has seen it, and more, I have seen it. You are no good. You will get up, now, and go away.” He waved his hand, and Rupert found himself stumbling to his feet, trying to catch up the rent remnants of his honour as they attempted to tumble away.

“Truly, Monsieur, I don’t know what you think I’ve done—”

“Think, bah!” Bonnard said forcefully. “You have been putting down not your whole bets, stupid boy, and this way you cheat the table. I have an honest banker so you can cheat like this?”

Rupert very nearly protested again, but he could see clearly enough from the dark looks of the players around him that no protest now would pull him out of deep water.

“All right, all right,” he said. “I didn’t mean anything, so I’m sorry, but I won’t be trouble. I’ll see my way out.”

“You will not,” said Bonnard. “I will see your way out.” True to his word, he escorted Rupert to his hat, his coat, and the door in that order.

“Oof,” Rupert said as the door shut behind him. Catching the curious eye of a driver waiting on the pavement, he shrugged. “I supposed was itching for the chance to talk to Monsieur Bonnard,” he said. “I guess I’ve done that now!”

~

“That’s the deuce of it!” Rupert cried. “I’ve been coming out of that house in the pink every night, and now I’ve been barred without even cheating on purpose!”

“I’d say you barely cheated at all,” Justin remarked from where he was draped in his fireside chair, “considering how easily you were caught.”

“Come off it,” Rupert said amiably. He threw himself down in the chair opposite the Duke’s. “It’s really a pity, though.”

“I’m curious,” Justin said. “Since Paris offers such choice in how a young man might get stung, did your choice of hive have anything to do with its queen?”

“Eh?” Rupert frowned at him a moment, and then said, “Oh! You mean Bonnard? He’s not nearly the character some would have him to be, Justin, and I hope you won’t be nasty about him to me. If he hadn’t thrown me out tonight I would have said he’s the best man in Paris.”

“An enthusiastic response,” Justin noted sourly.

“Fashionable, successful, untethered by his station, a most sought-after conversationalist and no mean thing to look at—even if I don’t like him, I’ve got to give him credit for being a man of every part.”

“Practice makes perfect.”

“Your cryptic mumblings, older brother,” Rupert informed, “cannot be effective, as I have no idea what you’re trying to accomplish.”

“Your Monsieur Bonnard isn’t as much of a fop as the city thinks him, perhaps,” Justin returned. “But he is not such a man as you think him, either.”

“Very well,” Rupert said. “Do you think he will allow me back to the _Coeur_ if I am extremely sure of myself?”

“If you must ask another man,” Justin sneered, “you are in all likelihood not sure enough for it to matter.”

“Have you never played at the _Coeur_?” Rupert asked. “I haven’t seen you there, y’know, which I count quite a surprise.”

“I do not play there,” Justin answered. “The proprietor could once have been of use to me, and is no longer. Let that queen bee buzz about its business with honey untapped.”

“Lud,” Rupert said. “You put a nasty bit of gloom into just about every thing, don’t you?”

~

Rupert arrived at the family door of the _Coeur de Léon_ the next afternoon, with the optimistic intention of being met with the household and no unwanted additions. A cold greeting from the housekeeper dampened his spirits, as did what seemed an overly lengthy wait in the front parlour, but he kept his patience and did his best with his temper.

When at last Monsieur Bonnard himself appeared at the door, Rupert sprang up out of his chair.

“Love of God, sir, I’ll think you really do hate me if you keep me waiting so long!” he cried.

“Hate you?” Bonnard said, eyes narrowed. “Yes, I think I do. I think I must loathe you.”

“That’s a hard thing to say,” Rupert observed. “Listen, I was telling the truth last night. I didn’t intend to cheat. I’ll come back and plea my case at the _Coeur_ ‘til you’ve got to roll aside my sorry corpse, if I have to, but I’ll have my good name back, sir!”

“Bah!” Bonnard replied. “You are probably a liar. Very well! I will fight you. If you die it will be _extrêmement gênant_ I think. Inconvenient.”

“What?” Rupert gawped.

“Fight! Fight! A fencing!” Bonnard shouted. “Come, upstairs there is a room!”

“You’re a madman!” Rupert told him sincerely, but followed him nonetheless.

He entered a long room with hardwood floors and relatively little decoration, save the carved wooden figures mounted against the ceiling in regular measures. He was distracted by these, and so nearly took the pommel of the sword Bonnard offered in the gut. It was not a fencing foil, to Rupert’s surprise, nor a blunted practice blade, but sharp steel, quite sufficient to kill a man.

“Lud! You’re taking this awfully seriously, aren’t you?”

“I am not afraid of a little blood,” Bonnard informed him, eyes sparkling viciously. “Are you a coward, Monsieur Cheater?”

“Hang it all, I’m _not_ a,” Rupert began, and Bonnard attacked. He was a bold and aggressive sword, which wasn’t surprising in the least, but Rupert did very quickly come find it worrying. Bonnard’s sudden beginning had given Rupert a bad start, for he was on the retreat before he’d even tried to strike a blow. He fought back Bonnard’s jabs and parries with increasing desperation, and it wasn’t for nearly half a minute before he managed to advance himself. Even then he could not quite cross the line where he’d begun.

“You’re a devil!” he gasped.

“Bah! You think I make you pay for your sins?” Bonnard drove forward, and Rupert stumbled backwards with a yelp. The point of Bonnard’s sword pricked his jacket and, neatly, the skin beneath it.

“Shall I send you to your fate?” Bonnard demanded.

Rupert leapt backwards, attempting to parry, and found himself pinned by his sleeve to the wood-paneled walls.

“I didn’t cheat, Bonnard!” he insisted. Bonnard shouted and brought his blade up against Rupert’s throat.

“You will keep lying to me?”

“I’ll keep my honour to death, I’ll swear!”

“I shall kill you, I think,” Bonnard said cheerfully, and pressed the blade alarmingly.

“Ack!” said Rupert. “No, by God, you have my bluff, peace, peace!” He held up his hands and waved them emphatically.

“Good,” said Bonnard. He backed away quite swiftly and put up his sword in the rack by the wall. “Now you will leave my house and never come back again, yes?”

“I say, I can do,” Rupert answered. “But I’ll still swear I never cheated on purpose at your faro table.”

“Bah!” Bonnard said. “Have it like you will.”

“I’d have it so I could sit at your tables tonight,” Rupert suggested boldly.

“Then sit!” answered Bonnard. “I will not kill you, perhaps.”

“Very kind,” Rupert said, and determined to return in the evening with his best hands and his best manners at his disposal.

~

Rupert resumed his place at the faro table, and very soon became a regular figure of Léon Bonnard’s _Coeur_. Their sword fight—the balm of winning having soothed Bonnard’s pride—also had the pleasant effect of making Léon and Rupert into comfortable companions. They dined with each other frequently, attended the theatre occasionally, and once or twice murmured the possibility of a country holiday, for hunting and riding.

Rather, Rupert had murmured; Bonnard had confessed on the second occasion that he had never been out of the city, and that neither riding nor hunting was among his pursuits, or indeed, his experiences.

“You’d pick it all up in a heartbeat, I’m sure,” Rupert said cheerfully. “Country ways are violent and wild.”

“Monsieur is a pig,” Bonnard said, chin up, “as always.”

“And you are a viper,” Rupert grinned. “As always. Come to England with me, Léon, and I will show you this pig’s country manners.”

“Hah!” said Bonnard. “You are insistent. But why should I leave here?”

“Because,” Rupert countered, “p’raps then you can prove yourself my better at riding and shooting as well as fencing.”

“That’s a fine reason,” Bonnard said consideringly.

~

“I’m not at all certain how you came to decide my house was at your disposal,” Justin remarked.

“Oh, you don’t mind,” Rupert said, but he looked anxious. “You don’t, do you, Justin?”

“I suppose not,” Justin answered. “If you do need to slink off and recover from the wounds of your gambles I suppose it may as well be in _my_ house. It is often enough _my_ money that finances these frolicks of yours.”

“Come off it, Justin,” Rupert said, more amiably than he felt inclined to, but cautious of his position. “I haven’t lost a shilling this time that I haven’t regained. Anyway, if it bothers you so much I’ll just have us over to the Merivales.”

“Hmm,” Justin said. “You’re welcome to the house, if you don’t ruin anything, but I can’t think why you’d want that little Titian bee of yours buzzing along after you.”

“What _do_ you have against him?” Rupert wondered. “I’ve found him excellent company. If he’s a bit sharp he ain’t no worse than you.”

“ _He_ is not as much your sort of _company_ as you imagine,” Justin said sourly, sinking further into his chair.

“I’m not fond of your hints, Justin,” said Rupert reproachfully.

“It’s well enough known you prefer a man of fashion, child,” Justin said, a little nastily. “Bonnard is delicate enough, but perhaps too _much_ the lady for your tastes. I’m sure with greater intimacy will come greater understanding.”

“I feel sometimes you’re obscure just to confound me,” Rupert said.

“Never just to confound you,” Justin said grimly.

“Ah, well,” Rupert says. “I’ll get your meaning or I won’t. Wish me a good journey, Justin.”

“Good journey,” Justin said ominously.

“That will have to do,” said Rupert.

~

Rupert and Léon leaned against the rail of the ferry that would carry them to the English coast. France had vanished into the sea some minutes past, but Léon, new to the sea, still stared backwards to where it had been. His cheeks were bright in the cold, and his eyes shone.

“I cannot decide, Rupert, if this is most exciting, or horrid and dull.”

“The sea? Both, I reckon,” Rupert said.

“It is very large, and I like this, because I have never seen anything like it; but I think it must grow very tiresome if you are sailing for many days.”

“I expect so,” Rupert said. “I’ve made no crossings except of the channel, but I hear the passage to the Americas is so dreary men have been known to kill themselves over it.”

“They are fools.”

“I’m sure they are. You’d never be driven to suicide whatever situation you were in, I imagine.”

“Of course not!” Léon said. “I would kill anyone who got in my way, and then I would have no reasons to kill myself. If I were too weak to do so, I suppose I should rather be dead.”

“Such a brute,” Rupert said appreciatively.

“Nonsense,” Léon said haughtily. “I am too refined for brutishness.”

“The viper I’ve already named you, then,” Rupert offered fondly. “Though I’d gladly risk the bite. D’you recall I called you a devil once?”

“More than once, Monsieur Cheat,” Léon answered.

“I suppose that’s true,” Rupert amended. “You ain’t, though. My brother’s the real _Satanas_. So they call him, and I’m more inclined to agree all the time.”

“Is this a warning that we journey to Hell?” asked Léon.

“Oh, no, his house is nice enough. He’s never in it,” Rupert explains. “He twitted me something awful about you, though. Have you met my brother?”

“Stupid, I do not know who your brother is,” Léon retorted.

“Don’t you? Oh! He’s the Duke of Avon.”

Léon snorted. “Bah!” he cried. “That man! Yes, I met him once. He thought he would rescue me from my brother when I ran away from him, but I thought I did not want to belong to Monseigneur _body and soul_ , so I ran away from him also.”

Rupert laughed in surprise. “That explains something, I suppose. Not why he calls you a Queen Bee, though.”

Léon looked at him sharply. “He says this? Bah! I knew I did not trust that man.”

“Damned if he wasn’t on about something after all! What’s it mean?” Rupert asked.

“That is none of your business, Monsieur Cheater,” Léon retorted, and Rupert, who could take a very broad hint if it were offered him, retired the question and moved on to other subjects of conversation. There were, fortunately, many diversions awaiting them; and Léon Bonnard had never seen the sea.

~

The first two weeks in Avon’s house, though not particularly eventful, passed quickly. Rupert and Léon kept themselves sociable as necessary, and busy otherwise with all the pastimes Rupert had promised. The Merivales were puzzled but charmed by Léon’s blunt manners and quick wit, which made his introduction to the neighborhood an easy and comfortable one; very few of their evenings were spent alone that they did not choose it so.

Rupert, meanwhile, was privately cheered by the discovery that he would not after all be immediately outdone in country sports by a citified French dandy. Léon quickly came to the same conclusion, which it is to be admitted put him in a bit of an uncharitable temper; he pretended otherwise, and the poor concealment of his bruised pride made his humours all the more delightful to Rupert. Even better, Léon was so deucedly mercurial that, while he could be lured out of his tempers, Rupert discovered that every one occasioned a different approach. Rupert began to make a game out of breaking him out from his bad moods, and he suspected that Léon got as much enjoyment from the attempts as he did.

One afternoon, as the two young men lay sprawled in the grass after a race (which Rupert won and Léon lost by way of a spectacular and unfortunate spill), Rupert grinned over at him and said, “Well, fair’s fair—you can have a go at beating me in swimming, next. I ain’t ever been much for that, so you stand a good chance even if you sink like a stone.”

“I do not swim,” Léon answered.

“Oh well! More’s the luck for me! I could teach you, Bonnard, what do you think?” Rupert could not help a certain wistfulness creeping into his tone. He hoped Léon would not object if he heard it, for while the rumors surrounding the _Coeur_ and its proprieter included the usual insinuations that followed a just too well-dressed gentleman, he’d never seen Léon treat a woman with half the interest that he treated Rupert himself.

“I do not wish to learn,” Léon said lazily.

“Come! What if we’re wrecked on the crossing back to France and only a good brisk paddle will save our lives?”

“No,” Léon answered sharply, glaring straight up at the sky.

“City boys don’t learn to swim, I suppose. Or it’s beneath the dignity of such a man of fashion as yourself?”

“I do not swim,” Léon said carefully, “because it is a stupid waste of time.”

“Perhaps you are shamed by the thought that I’ll see your skinny legs,” Rupert teased. Léon sat bolt upright.

“I do not swim!” he declared again, flushing crimson high on his cheekbones.

“Hold up, now,” Rupert said, sitting up after him. “That wasn’t meant as a real insult, you know, Bonnard, only as a bit of fun. You know, or you ought to, that I don’t think there’s a thing wrong with you. I think you’re—well, you’ve won me over pretty well, and that’s after you threw me out the door and threatened to kill me with a sword. It was just a joke! Don’t be such a woman about it.”

Léon regarded him coldly for a long and painful minute before he said, “I would hate nothing so much as to be a woman.”

Rupert tried to coax a response for himself. He managed to say only, “Well, I know you’re not a woman!” before Léon rose to his feet and was striding back the way they had come.

“Hang it all, Bonnard,” Rupert called from the ground, baffled. “What on Earth are you taking offense for?”

Léon, however, shouted only, “Stupid English boy!” and did not turn back. Rupert hopped to his feet and jogged after him.

“Bonnard!” he called. “Bonnard! Léon! Lud, you’re a madman. What’s the _matter_ with you? You’ve got to say now, or I’ll surely do it again and you’re bound to stop forgiving me sometime. And there’s nobody else for me to be such good friends with. Come on, what’ve I done?”

“Your _Satanas_ told you more than he should have! He should not have known!” Léon barked.

“Justin didn’t tell me anything,” Rupert said aggrievedly, “only that you weren’t much of a man, which he has no right to judge, and that he thought you’d be of use to him and weren’t. If he was in a sulk, that’s his doing, not yours, and it hasn’t _told_ me anything.”

“Bah!” Léon burst out. “Take your _not a thing wrong_ and drown yourself with your _swimming_!”

“You really are mad, viper,” Rupert said, utterly bewildered.

“If you do not care for women so much,” Léon snapped, “you will not care for me. I can cut off my hair and be Léon and no longer Léonie, but this still will not be good, I think!”

 _“Léon,”_ Rupert cried, stopping dead in his tracks. “Do you mean to tell me you’ve been a girl all this time? You cannot mean that.”

“I have been a man all this time,” Léon spat.

“But it’s a costume? A lie?” Rupert frowned.

“It is not a lie, stupid boy, and I will not speak to you any more and swim with you ever!”

He marched away at an ever more rapid pace, leaving Rupert astounded on the hillside behind him.

~

To Rupert’s great chagrin, Léon was not in Avon’s house by the time he arrived. A quick survey of the neighborhood discovered that his missing companion had installed himself—herself? It was a confounding matter, and Rupert was not sure how much the right he could possibly have of it—with the Merivales. Rupert begged an audience through them, to no effect, and after a few hours’ attempts it dawned on Rupert that the Merivales’ eternal hospitality was unfairly tried by his presence. He retreated, and waited hopefully for Léon to summon him, or better yet, return.

On the second day he received no word from Léon, but was perturbed by the arrival of Justin. Justin naturally had every right to visit in his own house, and by his own nature put everyone into a state of distress by doing so.

“My dear child,” Justin drawled. “What have you done with your honeybee? Surely you have not let him fly off and drop dead as all drones must?”

“You said Queen Bee before,” Rupert said churlishly. “And the answer is, he is installed in another hive. The Merivales. We had a bit of a spat.”

“How womanish,” Justin observed.

“Don’t be revolting, Justin,” Rupert said. “Quarrels aren’t confined to the ladies, as well you know, and as for Léon, I can’t think that anything about him is much of your business.”

“I see she has given you spine, after a fashion,” Justin observed. “I suppose it was the necessary defense of an otherwise weak and ebullient constitution; you could hardly have been expected to survive her violent, vulgar nature. Sweet Léonie! I am startled, nonetheless, to find in you a chivalry attuned to the feebler sex; I had not thought such attentions within your interests.”

“I do wish you weren’t horrible,” Rupert said flatly. “You’ll excuse me, Justin, but I’ve been invited to the Merivales’ for dinner and I don’t suppose I shall remember to come back until after you’ve gone.”

“I’m surprised to hear of an invitation,” Justin intimated, but Rupert wisely ignored this.

He took his leave quickly, not unaware that his most ruthless relative and the greatest financer of his amusements may now well be offended, and himself cut off.

~

Rupert interrupted the Merivales at dinner, to a great glowering from Léon.

“Why are you here, you unpleasant person?” he demanded.

“I’m here to very rudely remove you from your dinner,” he said. “’Course.”

The Merivales looked between them, seeming to, in tandem, make the wise decision not to place themselves in the middle of whatever conflict was at play.

“Very well,” Léon said in disgust. “You make my food turn to sick anyway.” He got up from the table and preceded him into the back parlour.

When the door had shut behind them and he was quite certain no servants were listening in, Rupert said, “Listen, Bonnard, you just tell me how things are and I’ll happily believe you. I think y’might say I’m, er, irregular enough myself that I’ve no high horse from which to judge you.”

“Irregular,” Léon said carefully, eyes narrowed.

“That’s right,” Rupert said. “With regards to…”

“You prefer men,” Léon corrected him. “For lying down with.”

“Well, yes,” Rupert admitted, coloring. “And I suppose I’m fairly well taken with you.”

“Even though I am not a man. Am I not one now? You are a fool,” Léon said. With his sharp chin and trim coat and fine limbs, he certainly looked no less like a man than he had before.

“I can’t think that it matters either way,” Rupert said.

“That you do not like women’s bodies or that I am a man? Never mind! Either of these makes you very stupid. I shall not talk to you any more.”

“Confound it, Bonnard, you are a mad vicious beast! I mean to say it don’t make no mind, for I’ll find you as handsome and your friendship as dear no matter what you call yourself.”

“Ah,” said Léon. He put out his slender hand and clasped Rupert’s. His grip was strong and his fingers soft. “I am Léon Bonnard. I had considered this before, but I do not think I will ever like to be a woman. I hope this is an answer?” He frowned. “You will not mind, that I will not look like you without these things?” He indicated his clothes with a sharp tug at his cravat.

“I can’t imagine minding,” Rupert said. “I don’t know what damned fool you think I am, but not my brother, anyway.”

“Ah,” Léon repeated, looking pleased. “Come. You will accompany me. We will go home.”

“My brother is there,” Rupert told him.

“Bah,” said Léon. “He does not bother me so much. I will refuse to be any good for him, so he can growl if he likes. You I will keep.”

“What about dinner?”

“They will not mind,” Léon said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “We will go, and your brother can be very angry to see everyone is happy without his evil interfering.”

“I’ll toast to that,” Rupert said, grinning.

“That is good,” said Léon, and added, with great satisfaction, “I hope you do not mind, we shall have to steal the Devil’s wine to do it.”

**Author's Note:**

> There was so much I wanted to do in this prompt that for awhile I sort of floundered around uselessly in a surfeit of good choices, but I was really taken with the idea of a Léon who was emancipated from her (in this case, his) relations without being immediately thrown together with Justin. Using Léon's caprice to get Justin out of the picture early was also the only way I could figure out to give Rupert a shot at ever having a romantic relationship with Léon. Rupert's gambling, Léon's first adventures with Justin, and, uh, some research I did for my dissertation last year resulted in Léon's gambling house. Figuring out Rupert's sexuality and Léon's gender identity was about the last thing that happened. That wasn't at all intentional (it was actually very bewildering), but it may be why this story ended up nearly as sexually restrained as Heyer's. So I apologize for the lack of what I'm sure would be some vicious, witty, and very queer sex, but I hope you enjoy Léon and Rupert's progress in that direction, at least.


End file.
